


a take charge guy

by blueink3



Series: sc tumblr ficlets [5]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Feelings, Fluff, M/M, Patrick is a Brave Button, david is a good boyfriend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-19 06:01:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22672999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueink3/pseuds/blueink3
Summary: Some post-MTP/pre-Cabaret drabble.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Series: sc tumblr ficlets [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1415692
Comments: 35
Kudos: 291





	a take charge guy

The flyer is deep red with thick black lettering, which makes it hard to read from a distance, but they’ve been put up in every window and on every surface in every business Schitt’s Creek has so there’s really no missing it - even if you’re not entirely sure what exactly it says. 

David memorized it a week ago, when Alexis made him sign off on the font, which was sweet, sure, but he’s still trying to work out what her ulterior motive is. It’s had him feeling very on edge, to be honest, and he’s reminded of his impending doom every time he enters the cafe or the motel office or his own goddamn store. 

A flyer even sits on Patrick’s kitchen table - has _been_ there since the day David brought it by: 

**Cabaret**   
**Directed by Television's Moira Rose**

Patrick usually puts things like that on his fridge: notices, postcards, pictures, bills. The every day things. The mundane things. The things he needs or wants to remember every time he reaches for the milk. 

The special things, though. The special things he frames. 

David smiles at the open mic night poster on the wall and tries to school his expression into something slightly less _lovestruck_ as Patrick comes out of the bathroom in pajamas, limping a little from rehearsal and toweling his hair dry. 

And, just like every day before this one, David watches him walk by that table and eye that flyer but continue on past. It’s deep red with thick black lettering. It’s hard to miss. But his eyes linger, ignoring the bills, ignoring the postcards, as he reaches for something in the fridge. 

So David buries his nose further in the book in his lap, despite the fact that he hasn’t read a word in twenty-three minutes... because Patrick hasn’t told his parents he’s the lead in a musical. They just came to visit, and it’s not exactly a short trip. He doesn’t want to bother them. Doesn’t want to _burden_ them. 

But David knows that Patrick is proud of this. He’s proud of the work he’s done and the effort he’s put in and the sweat he’s shed getting comfortable with how _un_ comfortable this makes him. 

He’s a take charge guy, his boyfriend. And David watches, breath bated, as he drapes the towel over the back of the kitchen chair ( _incorrect_ ) and stares at that damn flyer once more. His phone is right there next to it. It’d be so easy to just pick it up and call. He reaches out, palm steady but fingers twitching as his hand hovers over the innocuous piece of paper that Alexis spent entirely too long designing.

_Do it._

His book sits abandoned in his lap. 

_C’mon, honey, you can do it._

David holds his breath and watches as Patrick’s hand shifts from the paper to the phone, picking it up and unlocking it, tapping twice and putting it to his ear. 

“Hey, Mom,” he says, and David has to clap a hand over his mouth to keep from making a noise. “Yeah, good, good... I just - I didn’t get a chance to tell you with everything going on when you were here, but... um, I’m in a musical... Uh huh, um, the Emcee in Cabaret.” He has to pull the phone away from his ear as David hears a muffled but no less enthusiastic response from the tiny speaker. 

Patrick locks eyes with him then, and David doesn’t dare try to hide the fact that he’s positively _beaming_. 

His brave boyfriend clears his throat and bites his lower lip, “April 10th,” he says, voice a little rough. “I’d love it if you could come.” 

_Oh, you did it._

“I love you,” David mouths, three words that Patrick never fails to return, and he eyes the flyer once more, deep red with thick black lettering, as Patrick picks it up and sticks it on the fridge. 

Monumental task accomplished, he opens his arms and Patrick pads over, dutifully responding to the plans his mother is rapidly making in his ear as he sinks into the cushions with a sigh and allows David to pull him tight and secure to his chest. 

They breathe. 

And as he presses a soft kiss to that damp hair, David makes a note to buy a frame. 

Two, in fact. 

Marcy Brewer will want one. 


End file.
